


Bloodlines

by Temeyes



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-10 21:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20142070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temeyes/pseuds/Temeyes
Summary: In the year 1868, a young aristocratic assassin, [Y/N], was called upon the British Brotherhood to supervise the Frye twins' liberation of London; a task that was greatly out of her field of expertise. And as she fights her way to reclaim her family's name, little did she know that she walks the path that led to her father's downfall.





	1. A Long-Awaited Departure

**Author's Note:**

> Word Count: 3404
> 
> Hello! This is my first attempt in writing a multi-chapter fanfic- as well as for the fandom and characters as well. Feel free to correct any mistakes I've made in the process. Also, I'd like to inform that the first two chapters are both prologue chapters.
> 
> Also, please note that the Reader wears glasses here! Thank you!

* * *

HORSHAM, 1868

* * *

A young woman stands in her backyard, a bow in hand and an arrow in the other. She scrunches her nose in attempt to raise her oval-shaped glasses up her bridge. Slowly raising her aiming arm; she straightens and firms her grip on the handle, making sure not to apply much pressure than needed. Fingers tugging on the string finding it tightly attached to the bow’s ends, the lass places the arrow on the rest and her calloused fingers pulls the bowstring whilst locking the arrow’s nock upon it.

Adjusting her hold on the bow once more as she pulls the string further, just until it reached the tip of her lip. She recalls a past lesson to aim a tad to the left, she executes an inhale then releases with a shaky exhale. As she was about to release, a frantic man in a uniform calls her over.

“Milady! Milady! Master Marshall has been looking for you!”

This sudden interruption caused the woman to yelp in surprise, causing her to release the arrow in a wrong angle. The arrow’s fletching slices her lip, she instinctively flexes her right hand upwards and places it to her fresh wound. The panic-striken man who called out to her came in rushing to where she was with a white handkerchief in hand. Upon reaching her slightly-hunched state, the woman had her eyes closed shut.

“What does he need now, Damien?” She groans at the man before her as she fixes her composure. The man, who she referred to as Damien, removes the woman’s hand from her bleeding face and places a white-gloved hand on her chin, raising it to see her cut better.

“He did not say, Milady- And goodness! You’re bleeding!” Damien almost screams at her, dabbing the handkerchief on the sliced lip. “A thousand apologies, Milady! I’m sorry!”

“Nonsense, it wasn’t your fault.” She calmly reassures him, taking the bloody handkerchief from him. “I was bound to hurt myself trying this outrageous bow anyway.”

“I still apologize for interrupting your practice session.” Damien bows his head towards her. “Anyway, we should have your lip cleaned before you meet with Milord.”

“No need, medical care can wait.” She dismisses his concern and immediately cuts him off before he protests. “You wouldn’t be yelling for my attention if it wasn’t that important.”

She walks past Damien, her muddied boots hits the end of her ankle-length skirt as she walks up the porch. Damien, their family butler, seemed unfazed with his lady’s negligence. He briefly gazes at the target dummy a few feet from where she was, a handful of arrows struck on the target’s head, chest and abdomen. A glint of satisfactory can be seen from his eyes before he began to head back inside the manor.

The young woman stomps around upon entering the house, her hand still gripping the bow and her lip bleeding quite a bit. She directs herself towards the living room, her steps carrying haste. Thankfully, her mother and younger brother were out for their errands. She grimaces at her mother’s possible displeasure for her unladylike mannerism; her firm scolding was something she wanted to avoid for a while.

Upon entering the doorway of the living room, she immediately finds her brother. Marshall had his back turned to her, he was fiddling with the piano’s keys; perhaps unsure of what song to play. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, showing his hairy forearms. His sister casually knocks against the wooden wall, causing Marshall to snap his attention to her.

“Ah, [Y/N].” He greets, standing before he fully faces her. He wipes his hands on his breechers despite them being dry and clean. “I’ve been looking everywhere- what the hell happened to you?”

The young lady, now referred to as [Y/N], raises the heavy bow and gestures to it. “Had a bit of an accident during practice.” She cooly replies, pursing her bleeding lips. “Maybe tell Damien to not scream at me as if the world’s about to end, hm?”

Marshall’s expression distorts into unimpressed one. He unrolls his sleeves and buttons them soon after. “A letter came by just now, it’s addressed to you.” He walks towards the table in between the couches, grabbing an envelope from the pile. “It has the brotherhood’s insignia. Therefore, it’s of high importance.”

Marshall outstretches his arm to his sister, handing the crisp and unopened envelope to her. [Y/N] takes it from him, examining it. It definitely was sealed with the Assassins’ symbol, she flips the envelope to see her name neatly-written in cursive on the back. She gently places the bow at hand down, leaning it against the couch’s frame. Marshall hands her the letter opener, in which she gratefully accepts.

She slashes the knife against the envelope, ripping it open. She pockets it as she takes out the folded paper inside the said envelope. [Y/N] unfolds it and inspects the contents of the letter, her brows narrowed as she reads through each written sentence. Apparently, it was written by George Westhouse; a fellow assassin currently located in Crawley. Mentioned in the letter was the Council’s demand for her immediate presence. [Y/N] ponders, wondering why they’re suddenly frantic despite the past months of silence.

“Well? What does it say?”

[Y/N] visibly jumps from his words, Marshall unintentionally spooked his younger sister with his interruption. He chuckles from this, but doesn’t comment on it. She clears her throat and glances at him. “Read it yourself.” She hands the letter back to him, Marshall eagerly takes it and engulfs the letter as well.

He shows annoyance immediately after. Lifting his gaze to her, he asked, “What do you presume the council wants now?”

“I am as clueless as you, brother dear.” She replies, unfazed by the news. [Y/N] inspects the envelope once more, another folded letter inside. Pulling it out, she reads it out loud for Marshall to hear.

“[Y/N] Williams -“ She reads aloud, causing Marshall to have his full attention towards her. “I regret to inform you that Master Assassin Ethan Frye, a former teacher of yours, had passed away early this January. I, Selena Barclay, the current mentor of the Assassin Council, would like to apologize for the late relay of message. The council and I would like to further discuss the situation by your return to Crawley.”

Silence fills the room as the siblings stood agape, the both of them unsure how to react upon hearing the death of their former mentor. [Y/N]’s eyes continues to stare at the letter at hand, reading each line over and over in hopes to find any sort of mistake. She recalls the last time she came to visit the late Mister Frye; he taught her and her siblings how play a proper game of chess and that was only before Christmas eve the year before! She wonders if she missed any signs of illness in Ethan’s features during their last visit yet, she thinks of none.

“...Do you think their demand of your return involves Mister Frye’s children?” Marshall carefully asks.

Now that the idea came, [Y/N] thought of its possibility. Regardless of the fact of never officially meeting the Frye twins, despite her visits throughout her novice life. Evie and Jacob were usually out doing their chores, doing assassin missions or watching over the small area of Crawley.

“It’s likely, but let us not jump to conclusions.” The younger Williams replied, as equally quiet as her brother’s voice. “I shall take immediate leave then, I’ll be upstairs packing if you need me.”

“I’ll have Damien and the maids prepare the carriage.” Marshall says, taking the letter from his sister’s grasp. Placing the articles of paper on a nearby table. “And make sure to clean and disinfect that wound of yours.”

[Y/N] simply raises a hand to dismiss Marshall’s concern and headed towards the staircase just outside the living room’s location. She grabs handfuls of her dress’ skirt, pulling it slightly upwards. Each step heavy, the young woman’s mood obviously dampens from the depressing news coming from the letter. She decides to make a visit to his grave during her curt stay in Crawley.

* * *

Upon reaching her room, she turns the knob, pushes it open and closes it soon after. She heads towards the dresser just by the humongous bed. Without a skipping moment, she pulls the dresser’s doors open, pulling out her assassin robes. [Y/N] strips out her dirtied morning dress and her muddy boots, standing in nothing but her corset and a pair of knickers.

Pulling on a white dress shirt, tucking it neatly inside her dark breechers. Whilst she places a red waist coat over her body, hurriedly buttoning it up. She reaches towards her bed to grab her weighty overcoat, dark and worn but gave good comfort and mobility; [Y/N] wears different pair of boots, designed for strenous activities but light enough for sprinting and climbing. To top her attire, she places a piece of thick, yellow cloth around her shaped waist, upon it will be her belts that carried ammunition and her tools; things she thought she wouldn’t be using for a while.

[Y/N] fixes everything as she turned around to check herself in the mirror, her hands weaving through her messy mop of hair and adjusting her spectacles once more. Staring at her reflection, she feels anxious for later’s events. She takes a deep breath and sighs, walking back to her dresser to pull out two more accessories: her father’s scarf and the family pin.

Before her own father’s passing, he gifted [Y/N] his blue scarf with golden embroidery for her coming-of-age birthday celebration a few years ago. It was of sentimental value to him, to the point to consider it as a lucky charm. She was reluctant to take it before, knowing how much the late Lord Williams was attached to it. In her later years, [Y/N] would wear it wherever she went; finding comfort and confidence whenever.

She loosely wraps it around her shoulders, tension leaving as she did so. Her now-gloved hands closes the wardrobe and takes one more glance in the mirror; the longer she looked at her own reflection, the more she could see her father in her image- only, shorter and sturdier than himself and perhaps with perfect vision. She lightly laughs at the thought, people had always mentioned that she’s his splitting image. As fast as she changed, [Y/N] runs out and heads back downstairs.

* * *

As she took her last step from the flight of stairs, a familiar, feminine voice can be heard from the other side of manor’s front door. [Y/N] knew that voice quite well, the sound of their mother’s volatile choice of words were always the last thing she wanted to hear on a daily basis. As if on cue, the door swings open. Damien opening it for Countess Williams’ entrance, along with the youngest child of the family, Caelan.

Her mother was dressed in her outdoor attire in the familial colors, along with her lace-designed bonnet sitting on her head. She smiles at Damien, her favoured butler, as a sign of gratitute; a symbol he humbly returns. Behind them was Marshall and [Y/N]’s younger brother, Caelan, who appears to be standing stiffly and a scowl present on his face. [Y/N] doesn’t blame him. During their time of adolescence, both her and Marshall would be forced to tag along their mother’s meetings and errands with fellow assassins there in Horsham. Not only was it entirely agonizing, but incredibly boring as well.

“Now, now, Caelan dear.” Countess Williams tuts her son as she removes her shawl and pristine gloves. “Don’t pout, one day you’ll be doing these assassin chores you call a bore.”

“Mother, having me stand by your side the entire time- and not to mention, in complete silence!” Caelan began, waving his arms to further exaggerate his frustration. “Is tedious, utterly tedious! Why even bring me along?”

Their mother offered him another of her calculated smiles and presses a petit hand on his pale cheek.

“It’s good for you! Having to leave the house is better than sticking your nose inside your father’s dusty books, hm?” She answers his inquiry, and gave her full attention to her daughter- who in turn, was amused in the exchange in front of her. The Countess scans her from head-to-toe, her gaze narrows at her; her thin lips open agape, obviously nobody had informed her of the situation her daughter was placed.

“Why are you in your robes?” She voiced, eyes widening as her index finger accusingly points at [Y/N]’s face afterwards. “And what happened to your lip?!”

[Y/N] sighs, already taken her defeat. “The lip- it’s a long story. If brother dearest, Marshall, had not informed you yet, I am being summoned by the council.”

“And on what terms, young lady?” Her mother presses as she strolls into the dining hall to have her timely tea, Damien and Caelan trailing behind her. [Y/N] stares at her mother’s departing figure and responds with “Uhm, the council’s? They seem to be in dire need for my help.”

The elderly woman scoffs at her daughter’s statement as she sits on her selected chair, Damien assisting her from behind. Caelan and his sister stood awkwardly on both sides of her. Calmly did she add a cube of sugar to her steaming cup of tea, stirring its contents until bringing the porcelain cup to her lips- sipping her drink. She then lays down the cup and purses her lips, querying [Y/N] further without facing her. “Don’t you think they could handle the situation themselves?”

Internally did [Y/N] groan as she bows her head in hopes to conceal her own frustration with their mother’s stubborn attitude; something she regrettably inherited. Her brother, who was still next to the two of them, obnoxiously grins at his older sister’s annoyance; who in return, glares at him. “Mother, with all due respect, I don’t think they would call for me if they could.”

Unfortunately, to Countess William’s ears, [Y/N]’s choice of words added only more salt to the wound. She snaps her attention towards her daughter, who instantly averts her eyes at the room’s ceiling. [Y/N] bites her lip as her gloved hands fiddled with one another. She mentally prepares herself for the older woman’s barking. Instead, she grabs her hand. She tenderly caresses it as she stared at her daughter right in the eye, a wave of concern flashes in her expression.

“Love,” She starts, almost sounding like a whisper. “I believe in your skills and intelligence. You are gifted, don’t doubt my sincerity.”

“Then I don’t see why you’re so keen on not letting me leave?” [Y/N] sneers, a tone in which her mother decided to ignore completely.

“You know why.” Her mother turns back to her momentarily-neglected cup of tea, taking another delicate sip from it. “Precautions must be taken, especially with what happened with your father.”

A wave of unpleasant tranquility passes as those last words left their mother’s mouth. It was still a sensitive subject to openly speak of, but their mother enjoys using it as a last resort to scold her children. Although, the Countess gives out another sigh and straightens her posture soon after. “Let Marshall take your stead.”

Immediately, Caelan scoffs and walks out of the room; heading into the kitchen. [Y/N], on the other hand, bluntly replies, “No.”

Their mother dearest lets out a hearty laugh, placing a hand on her chest as she did so. Soon after, [Y/N] joins in the fits of giggles. “I knew you’d deny the proposition.” she says to her, taking refilling her cup of tea while she composes herself once more. [Y/N] jeers, “Marshall wouldn’t be able to handle whatever the council has to offer-”

“I heard that!”

Marshall begrudgingly enters the dining hall, Damian in tow. In the butler’s hands was a intricately crafted wooden box with the assassin insignia carved on the lid, [Y/N] knew well what was inside the chest- something she found useful throughout her career as an assassin. As her brother and Damien reached the two of them, Marshall greats their mother with a kiss on the forehead and raises his brows at his sister’s direction.

“I’m assuming she gave you her blessing?” Marshall eyes her, then at their mother who sat contented whilst she drank. [Y/N] nods at him in response, he took it as a signal- turning around to face Damien and opens the chest before them.

“Then you’ll be needing this again.”

There it lay, the assassin gauntlet- [Y/N]’s assassin gauntlet. Timidly, she reaches out to hold it. She carefully inspects it, finding the gauntlet to be in pristine condition like usual. She slips in on her right forearm, hasting the belts in place. She adjusts it’s placement upon her sleeve and flicks her wrist, triggering the concealed, thin blade out. Satisfied, she flicks her wrist once more to sheathe it. A smile unconsciously spreads out on [Y/N]’s lips as she gawks at her hidden blade.

Marshall chuckles at her reaction. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re sadistic, dear sister.” His teasing visibly irritates her, but his sister acknowledges his buffoonery by playfully pushing his shoulder. “Perhaps I am, dear brother. Shall we test the blade on you then?”

“Children please,” Their mother scolds. “No blood spilling inside the house. Have mercy on the maids.”

The both of them quickly closed their mouths shut and uttering a quiet apology towards their mother, smirking at one another after. Countess Williams pushes herself away from the table and Marshall instinctively helps her stand, their mother smoothens out her ridiculously large dress as she faced her only daughter. As she did with Caelan, she places a warm hand on [Y/N]’s cheek; her thumb brushes on her still-fresh wound on the lip. Her gaze looked distant and [Y/N] notices. She wonders what was running through her mother’s complicated mind, perhaps it was a mother’s concern?

“Promise me you’ll return as soon as you’re done?” Their mother frets, quickly adding. “And do visit Mister Frye’s grave, give him our regards.”

[Y/N] simply nods at her mother’s request. “I plan to, and don’t worry about me. I can handle it.”

She gives her daughter a long, and tight embrace. She gladly returns the gesture and felt her mother kiss her cheek while doing so. At their release, Marshall places a hand on his sister’s shoulder. He offers her a genuine smile and hugs her as well. Unbeknownst to any of them, Caelan rushes back into the room and rams himself into his older siblings’ hug. A chorus of grunts came from the older Williams, followed by fits of laughter.

“You can’t leave without giving me a hug as well!” Caelan exclaims at his older sister. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me with- with him!”

He accusingly points at Marshall, who stares at him in disbelief. Marshall ruffles his brother’s dark locks, in which he responds with a whine. “You’ll be fine, it’s not the end of the world.” [Y/N] reasons with her youngest brother, he childishly pouts at her but tightens his embrace around her.

“Bring me home something shiny, will you?” Caelan requests, smiling widely at his sister. “Something fit for my collection!”

“You mean those rocks you decorate all over your bedroom?” Marshall mockingly questions, as if disgusted at his brother’s interests. “Surely you can find something more exciting than dull rocks.”

“They are not rocks-!”

“Boys, enough.”

The Countess scolds her sons as she straightens the collar of [Y/N]’s coat, she smiles at her again and gently pushes her towards the door. “Now, off you go. Damien and a few maids had already prepared the carriage for your departure.” She announces, “You have a long journey ahead of you.”

“I’ll see you soon, mother. Brothers.” [Y/N] bids them farewell, her family waving at her as she walks out the manor. Damien, being the loyal man he was, follows her out and opens up the carriage door for her. [Y/N] thanks him for his hospitality just before he closes the door. She hears a rapid rapping against the carriage’s structure, obviously Damien notifying the coachman to start their departure.

The horses neighed as the carriage jolts to a move. The young woman stares out of the carriage window, unsure of what the following days will unfold for her.

Onward to Crawley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick thing before you move on to the next chapter: I've actually drew [Y/N] with her default features and outfit. She also has a default name, if you wanna check out her character profile, just go on the link [[here!]](https://temeyes.tumblr.com/ocmariaac)


	2. The Frye Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon her arrival in Crawley, the Council immediately calls a meeting to discuss [Y/N]'s mission. To her dismay, it involves her former mentor's children; Evie and Jacob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 2609
> 
> I had to replay a few Unity missions for this chapter, I was always curious about the British Brotherhood in Syndicate since there wasn't much information about them or its members. So here's my attempt to write about them, I had to use a few OCs. Hope you'll enjoy the chapter!

* * *

CRAWLEY, 1868

* * *

“Milady? We’ve arrived.”

She stirs awake from inside the carriage, her wistful sleep clearly interrupted by the coachman’s muffled voice from outside. [Y/N] lets out a yawn as she fixes her glasses once more, her coachman opens the door and holds out a hand for her; she gratefully accepts as she gets off the carriage.

A quiet, and cool breeze went past her figure. It causes her to shiver, Crawley always did seem cold to the young woman. Not that she seem to mind. [Y/N] adjusts her field of vision at the structure in front of her, it was a two-storey building; evidently abandoned. Although unknown to most, it was where the entire brotherhood was hidden; in a secluded part of Crawley where nobody would actually come and go on a day-to-day basis.

[Y/N] glances behind her, only to see that the coachman went about his duties, taking care of the horses and looking after the carriage. She shrugs at him, seeing the old man’s joy in communicating with the steads as he fed them. Without further distraction, [Y/N] forces herself to walk towards the building’s entrance, pushing the heavy doors open.

Upon entering, she finds two fellow assassins standing by the entrance. They acknowledged her presence by nodding at her direction, in which she formally returns .

The inside of the building was vastly different from its exterior; it was well-maintained, the walls were bright red and banners holding the assassins’ insignia hanging from the ceiling decorated the halls. A large, candled chandelier hangs from above the spiral staircase in the middle of the hall, its light warms the room building inevitably.

The young [Y/N] Williams doesn’t find anything different anywhere from her last visit here. Familiar faces came and went as she strolled around the quarters, greeting them one by one. However, she couldn’t find a particular person that wrote to her. The fact slightly frustrates her, not even the Mentor Barclay can be seen from her office. [Y/N] assumed that they were in the meeting area, yet the lass didn’t want to barge in just yet. George was someone she wanted to talk to first.

As if God was intently listening to her thoughts, George Westhouse comes into her field of view; dressed in his black and red robes and his hood down. The older man meets her gaze as soon greets her with a wide grin, the corners of his bright eyes wrinkling in the process.

“Ha, you made it!” He exclaims, briskly walking in her direction. [Y/N] opens her arms and meets George’s hug. “We weren’t expecting you this soon.”

They separate from the hug and George gently pats her shoulder. “Your letter seemed to be quite frantic if you’d ask me.” [Y/N] says, raising an eyebrow at the man. “I would’ve been here sooner if mother dearest didn’t argue with me.”

“That does sound like good ol’ Cordelia.” He chuckles, reminiscing at her mother’s past antics. “Come now, the council would like to have immediate word.” George holds the younger woman by the shoulders and walks her towards the meeting area. [Y/N] merely rolls her eyes at the action, but doesn’t protest.

“Anyway, what happened to your lip-“

“I’d rather not say...”

* * *

The pair went up a series of stairs and went around a handful of hallways; in which [Y/N] dizzying as most of the halls were identical from every one they passed by. Ultimately, they reached their destination. George knocks on the wooden archway as [Y/N] peeks through and inside the opposite room were the five members of the British council, they all look up front their work upon the massive table to see their humble guests had finally arrived.

Mentor Selena Barclay; the much-older woman with loosely-braided, red hair (and the overall head of the British brotherhood.) speaks up before the rest and straightens posture, her unsullied robes waves as she moves her body towards their direction. She clears her throat and gave them a thin smile.

“Countess Williams, we’ve been expecting you.” She welcomes, gesturing to a empty chair directly across hers. “Please sit, we’ve much to discuss.”

[Y/N] snickers at the term the Mentor had used, obviously amused referring her as such. “Madam Barclay, please- [Y/N] will suffice. Besides, I’m positive that my brother will be gladly inheriting that title.” She jabs at the elder woman, which causes a chortle from her. [Y/N] casually walks at the opposite side of the enormous table, taking a seat. The other council members began to dismiss their duties and went to their respective seats. George, on the other hand, simply stands beside their visitor and crossing his arms against his puffed chest. 

As they taken comfort from their places, Barclay clears her throat. “Shall we begin?” A chorus of agreement filled the air and the Mentor clasps her hands together and looks towards [Y/N].

“Lady Williams, as stated from the letter, we are in dire need of your skills.” Barclay lays out, keeping eye contact with her. “And in case you wonder, your former mentor, Ethan Frye, is somewhat involved in this issue.”

“Marshall himself assumed as much,” [Y/N] nonchalantly comments. “How so?”

Master Assassin Lance Mulligan; a man with greying blond hair and a permanent frown on his face spoke up instead. “His twin children, Evie and Jacob, had decided to go against our authority and recklessly ventured to London.” He practically seethes through his teeth, displaying his displeasure of the given news to them. He slumps back into his seat and the space between his brows furrow.

His wife that sat next to him, Vale, places her hand on his broad shoulder; forwarding from the edge of her seat. “To cut it short, Lady Williams, they are your mission.”

[Y/N] shifts from her chair as George lets out a shaky exhale from beside her. She bites her lower lip, gently feeling the healing cut with her teeth. She takes a second to think before she inquires further. “Pardon me, but what exactly did the Frye twins do?”

“A month ago, George deployed those two to Croydon to eliminate two targets-” Assassin and huntswoman, Amelia Keene, answered her question. “Doctor David Brewster and Rupert Ferris.”

“Templars under Starrick, I assume?” [Y/N] asks. Miss Keene nodding at her direction.

“As successful as those two were, we have associates that witnessed them get on a train heading towards London.” Another great assassin, Marcus Hayes, simply adds into the conversation. “Just like Cecily and Ethan they are, impulsive I must say!”

“Marcus, Evie and Jacob are currently doing an exceptional progress in London-“ Amelia interjects into Hayes’ compulsive rant. In which he responds with numerous and colorful curses.

Barclay taps her palm twice against the table, firmly placing her gaze at Hayes’ direction. “Marcus, please calm yourself. Miss Williams, all we are asking is for you to travel to London and act as the twins’ overseer.”

The last three words rang into [Y/N]’s ears, her head tilts in confusion and her mouth hangs agape. George takes a sharp breath and shifts his weight onto his other leg. [Y/N] glances at the man beside her, only to find him averting his gaze. She pushes her spectacles, soon after she unconsciously cracks her knuckles; her thoughts scrambling to figure out a plausible solution to their problem.

Her mind clicks with an idea, remembering that Jayadeep transferred to Britain eight years prior to current events, (thanks to Ethan’s intervention.) He became the only assassin leader in London upon his arrival, so the young Williams thought he’d have an advantage. [Y/N] was hesitant taking the job, baby-sitting isn’t exactly her field of expertise; she’s not a exactly a people-person either.

“What about ‘The Ghost’?” [Y/N] offers to them, hoping that they’ll consider. Unfortunately, none of them seem to take it well.

Mister Mulligan rubs his temples as he inquires her to elaborate. “What about Mister Green precisely?” Irritation becoming evident on his expression. Vale visibly becomes agitated with her husband’s rising temper, therefore she answers in his place once more.

“We have considered him, although we don’t think he’d be capable to handle those two alone.” Vale reasons out to her. “As you can see, the Fryes are bit mulish while Green is- ah, soft as most would say.”

“I’ve already sent a messenger to inform Henry Green of your arrival.” Selena Barclay interjects, which causes [Y/N]’s shoulders to sag.

“So no matter my decision, I’m forced to take the job.” She mumbles to herself. George bows down to her seated level, he mockingly whispers into her ear. “I know, you’re lucky.”

[Y/N] quietly growls at him, “I know.” George chuckles as he stands upright again. “Fine, I leave for London at once.” A satisfied hum emanates from Barclay’s way; slowly she rises from her seat and clasps her palms again. Her head turning sideways to check if the others had their attention on the Mentor herself.

“If there are no more objections, then this meeting’s adjourned.” She crows to them, a welcoming silence sweeps within the room. Barclay simply nods her head.

“It’s settled! Lady Williams, you are to transfer to London; keep a strict eye on the Fryes, learn our enemies’ secrets.” The Mentor softly declares, unwavering her sight from the young woman. “Do these without breaking our tenets.”

“Of course, Master. I won’t let any of you down.”

* * *

“That was fun.”

George says aloud, assuming that it’ll lighten [Y/N]’s mood. The pair were walking down the stairs just after Selena Barclay had dismissed them.

The lass shuts her eyes then opens them to glare at him, it causes George to flinch. [Y/N] tugs on her shirt’s collar, suddenly feeling a wave of anxiety come over her. The old man glimpses at her rigid stature, unsure how to ease her worries.

“Are you alright?” He asks, receiving a snort from the girl beside him.

“I was expecting a dangerous adventure after an uneventful year of idleness, dear George.” She sighs, crossing her arms to show her frustration further. “They could’ve chosen Marshall for this! It’s more up his alley.”

“May I remind you, [Y/N], that none of your brothers possess the gift.” He cautiously prompts her, “and Marshall has a worse temper than the old prune, Mulligan- Ah, your mother’s words, not mine.”

[Y/N] scoffs, not exactly satisfied with George’s argument. “And I don’t exactly mingle well with others, yet here we are.” Sarcasm was dripping from every word she gives, resulting to George’s increasing discomfort. Thankfully, he finds an alternate route for their hellish conversation. “I’m sure you’d want to visit Ethan’s grave before you leave, yes?”

Her steps faltered at George’s proposal. Her eyes stray from the ground to her friend, her scarred lips parting. [Y/N] eyebrows raise as she focuses on his position. “Is this an attempt to please my foul mood?”

“Uh, perhaps-”

“Good, because it’s working. Come on.” She hastily walks past him, leaving the poor man confused.

“My Lord, kids these days.” George mutters to himself. “The weirdest things- I bloody swear.”

* * *

The enclosed cemetery wasn’t crowded upon their arrival, only a few visiting strangers praying to their late loved ones.

There Westhouse stands, next to [Y/N] as she places a few flowers she picked along the way in front of Ethan’s gravestone, silence engulfs the two of them as the young lady dips her head and shuts her eyes. She mumbles out a prayer, thinking that it’s odd to pray; not being overly religious herself, But regardless, she wants to give the late teacher her deepest respects.

The glasses that sats on her nose slips down slightly and she anxiously bites her scarred lips again. George comfortingly rubs her back and [Y/N] regains her faltering composure, being reminded that she was unable to attend their mentor’s funeral was a depressing thought. Remembering that the man was another father-figure to her along with her brothers.

“He wouldn’t want to see you in this state.” George soothes softly, continuing to rub her back in a circular motion. “Besides, he’s proud that you grew into a talented woman.”

He hears her subtle sniffles as she takes a sharp breath. George simply gives her a side-hug and she gladly reciprocates the gesture, the two of them stood there in Crawley’s inviting, cool breeze. After a few more passing moments, [Y/N] releases from George’s warm hug; happy and satisfied that a friend was there to help her cope. George gives her one of his rare yet sincere smiles, and she sighs out loud, as if the weight on her shoulders were magically lifted.

“Thank you for coming with me.” She begins, offering the older man a grateful smile. “I never thought that he’d leave us so soon.”

“Ah, neither did we.” He adds, continuing to stare down on the tombstone in front of them. “Hid that he had pleurisy until his last few days, he didn’t want people to see him as a burden.”

“What?” [Y/N] asks, her shock evident. “That’s absolutely depressing- the twins must’ve taken it hard." George clears his throat, subtly straightening his posture. “It was, but they were able to cope. I just wish it wasn’t by running rampant now in London.”

[Y/N] hums in acknowledgement as the man beside her sighs loudly, she mentally notes to give the twins her condolences upon meeting them in a few hours. After a silent moment passes by, George turns to leave, [Y/N] curiously glances back at her companion’s retreat; he takes a few steps forward before looking back at her. He nods at the direction of the street where [Y/N]’s family carriage awaits.

She reluctantly follows, giving the grave one last look. A soft smile crosses her lips as she happily knows that Ethan’s now with his wife, Cecily, somewhere in the high heavens.

* * *

“Do you have everything you need?”

She rolls her eyes at George, amused at his fatherly-concern. “Why yes, father. I’m perfectly ready for my departure.” She teases him, which seemed to work due to George’s now-escalating irritation. 

“Alright, the train’s about to leave.” George changes the topic as he glances at the tall clock behind them. “I’ve already told your coachman to return to Horsham with the news, as well as to bring your luggage to London as soon as possible.”

She smiles at him again, nodding her head profusely. “Thank you, George. Apologies for asking you to take care my needs, I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better.” He chuckles out, grabbing something inside his pocket. There he pulls out a small piece of shaped paper and hands it to her. “Here’s your ticket.”

She takes it and briefly inspects it. George gives her another of his warm hugs, lasting more than it usually does. [Y/N] returns the gesture, tightening it further. “I wish I could’ve stayed longer.”

“Maybe once you’re done with London, you and I should go hunting-“ He says. “Both of us know how much you like handling a bow.”

[Y/N] chuckles as they both release. The train whistles loudly, indicating its time for departure. With one final exchange of smiles, [Y/N] runs toward the train; hopping into the open carriage, waving goodbye at George before going to find an empty seat.

Eventually, she finds one by the end of the passenger car as the train lurches forward; taking comfort into the stiff seat. Shifting her body a bit to find a decent spot. A hefty sigh leaves her lips as she stares out the stained window, findling her gloved hands for warmth. She imagines that the ride to war wasn’t that far ahead.

_'London.’_ She thought. _‘Here I come.’_


	3. Return to Old London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As she steps on London soil again after so long, [Y/N] gets the most eventful day she's had in a while; visiting missed companions- and meeting new ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 7065
> 
> Starting from this chapter, things will get lengthy! I wanted to explore more about the characters and their personalities because I always thought that Syndicate had so many amazing minor characters that deserved more love! (Ahem- I'm looking at you Henry.)
> 
> I plan to update the story at least once a week, I got to work around the first three chapters about a month ago after a lot of drafting and stuff. Anyway, kudos and comments are highly appreciated, thank you!
> 
> *NOTE: there's a flashback session at some part of the chapter, it's formatted in italics.

* * *

WHITECHAPEL, 1868

* * *

The train halts with a loud squeal as the steel wheels of the locomotive grinds against the rusty tracks. Most people that rode along with the young aristocrat began to bustle around the carriage; pushing against one another to pick up their luggage and run out, no manners for their fellow passengers whatsoever. However, manners don’t exactly apply to Lady [Y/N] Williams for she too had been pushing others out of her way to receive fresh air once more.

Thankfully, she didn’t bring any sort luggage with her. Therefore, absconding from the Whitechapel station went by like a summer breeze; escaping the slow and horrible process of luggage inspection. [Y/N] was also grateful for the fact that civilians weren’t aware of her social status, neither were they familiar with her features. It’s most likely that most citizens of Britain had forgotten their family’s existence prior to her father’s untimely demise.

She takes precaution by removing the family pin placed on her collar and pockets it inside her coat for safe-keeping, patting it twice for reassurance. She struts pass the entryway of Whitechapel station. [Y/N] breathes in and lets out a sigh. _‘Ah, London’s polluted air. How exciting.’_ She blankly thought, staring at the sky above.

“For once I’d like a proper sleep.” She announces to herself out loud, walking already in the direction of their house located in London. But she abruptly stops in her tracks, recalling that the Williams’ family manor was located in Westminster; too far to walk from where she currently was.

She clicks her tongue in annoyance of not having to think her method of transportation thoroughly, her lips purses as her eyes scanned the surroundings. [Y/N] considers taking a carriage at the moment she spots one, nodding to herself as she calculates. She could also scale a fee buildings but she mentally notes that she was physically tired.

Settling with taking a carriage, she sets sight on a nearby, empty one. She struts towards the coachman patiently sitting at the front seat. As common courtesy, they greet one another and [Y/N] gave him directions towards Westminster afterwards. He accepts and keenly tells her to enter the carriage, in which [Y/N] complies.

As her gloved hand holds the handle and practically slams the carriage door shut, the driver snaps the reigns holding the horses in place; causing the animals to begin it’s departure. The young lady adjusts herself to the unfamiliar seat found immediate comfort, she thoughtlessly stares outside the window while the slow ride takes place.

* * *

As they passed by the City of London, [Y/N] overheard a commotion from outside. Peeking outside once more, she eyes a group of aggressive people clad in red who were evidently threatening those wearing green.

“Blighters.” She whispers to herself.

Something interesting catches her eye; a man dressed in black from head to toe, standing at a distance from the growing tension between the two gangs from afar. He suspiciously stood in between two brutes. On his shoulder was a large, violet cross symbol; the Templar insignia. Not very subtle.

The said man nods his head at the rivaling gangs, signalling the two brutes as they went ahead to pull out their revolvers and shot a few men in green, triggering at a violent course of actions afterwards.

[Y/N], unable to take it any longer, jumps out of the carriage and practically throws a small pouch filled with shillings at the coachman. “Keep the change!” She yells out to the confused man as she ran towards the trouble up ahead.

She pulls up her concealed hood over her head as each step became friskier as she runs toward the man clad in black. He curiously turns around and jumps in fright when he caught sight of her alarming approach, his bodyguards no longer beside him for they went ahead to fight with the others. Without any other options, the Templar runs for his life; taking a hasty escape to the narrow alleyways.

[Y/N] clicks her tongue again as she lessens distance between the target and herself. Already planning out to capture the man and interrogate him.

Unlike from her last visit to the land of opportunity, Jayadeep and herself made sure that templars weren’t so keen on the idea of meddling with gang affairs. But, it seems that times had change despite only being a year away from London.

[Y/N] narrowly avoids colliding with passing carriages and their attached horses thanks to her great reflexes and quickly increases her chance to capture the runaway man. However, the people that she unintentionally pushed out of the way were cursing nonstop at her uncivilized behavior- not like they were going to remember her anyway.

Veering around sharp corners of London’s alleys, the Templar notices that he was running out of turns to disperse his pursuer’s sight upon him, he takes a split-second decision to break into an open house and take flight to the rooftops. The hooded woman recognizes his change-of-plans and a smirk emerges from her face, directing her body towards a nearby building. She picks up her running speed and successful grabs onto a window frame; scaling the wall towards the roof.

At a short span of time, [Y/N] reaches the ledge and pulls herself up. And right on cue, the fleeing man opens the roof’s hatch and pulls himself out. Although, once he peers sideways and saw [Y/N], he almost flung himself off the roof and continued to run.

The young assassin let’s out a huff of breath and went after him. “It’s never easy, is it?”

Their cat-and-mouse chase went on longer than [Y/N] initially expected, they were still hoping over several gaps and roofs until finally the templar’s luck had dried out and ran out of places to hop and run. He continued to stand by the edge of the building’s roof, peeking downwards at the street; a bead of sweat drops from his temples while his eyes spread wide open.

Whilst distracted from his approaching death. [Y/N] pulls him from the shoulder and forces him to face her, he loses his footing but [Y/N] catches him by the collar of his leather coat. Now there they stood by the roof’s unstable edge, the assassin threatening to let go of the man’s collar that may lead him to his early demise.

“Please, please!” He pleads. “Let me go!”

“I would but I’m absolutely sure that you’ll die if I do.” She muses, her smirk growing wider from under her hood. “We wouldn’t want that- would you?”

He frantically shakes his head as he tightens his grip on her wrists. She could feel his clumping sweat through his thick gloves, causing [Y/N] discomfort. Almost considering to let go of him.

“Do me a favor,” She starts. “Tell me why Starrick’s affiliating himself with street gangs? And maybe I’ll let you live to see another day.”

“No, please! They’ll kill me!” He cries out to her, splashes of his saliva hitting the skin on her face. [Y/N] cringes at the contact but keeps her threatening aura in place.

“Well, either way, you’re dead.” She deadpans. “But tell me what I need to know and _maybe_ I’ll grant you mercy.”

His frantic eyes darts in almost every direction, unsure if he should take the woman’s offer. A few seconds pass until he furiously nods his head. “Okay! Just please-“

“Great, why’s Starrick involved in the gangs now?” She presses him, shaking her grip on his collar. He tenses but complies.

“An advantage, he said. To gain more control of London’s citizens- oh god, please!”

“Alright. I’ll bite.” She flatly says at the shivering man in her grasp. “What about the Blighters’ leader? Who is he? A templar like yourself?”

“A-ah, h-his name is Ma-“

A bullet zips past [Y/N]’s ear, almost grazing her skin. She gasps and to her surprise, the unnamed templar she was interrogating went limp. There’s now a fresh bullet embeded in his forehead that was profusely bleeding, [Y/N] gasps in shock as she hurriedly pulls the man’s now-dead body away and sets him down on the flat roof.

Unsure of what happened, she places two digits on his throat to feel a pulse but to no avail. She does the same on his wrists but receives the same results. The Templar was officially dead, and just before [Y/N] could get valuable information. She clicks her tongue as she sits down, all of her running was for nothing.

“You’re welcome!”

A rough voice pierces through the humid air, sarcasm heavily evident from the tone. [Y/N]’s sure that whoever the hell the person behind her was, is unmistakably the merciless person that shot her target. As deathly impressive his shot was, she deemed it as unnecessary.

She turns around as slowly as she could, cautious that the perpetrator still has a gun directed on her back. Once she fully faces the intruder, in front of her stands a rugged man with sporting a top hat. Indeed he still has his gun trailed at her, a smug expression on his face. [Y/N] grits her teeth and practically bursts at him-

“You shot my target!” Her voice seething in unwelcome rage, her eyes darkening at the sight of the stranger’s sole existence. The man shrugs as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“So? He’s dead and you’re fine. As I’ve said, you’re welcome.” He nonchalantly says before he attempts to take his leave, sheathing his gun back into his coat.

[Y/N] takes long strides to keep up with him, pulling him hard against his shoulder to make him face her again. There she glares down at him, the man was obviously taller than her; stockier too. But that doesn’t stop the lady from threatening him.

“He had information- and the name of another potential target.” She says as she prods a finger on his broad chest. “Then you recklessly blew his brains out! And you have the audacity to assume that I should be thanking you?!”

That doesn’t seem to faze him, he just continues to stare down at her; unimpressed with her scolding. It was as if he was used to receiving lectures for his uncalled-for actions. Nonetheless, she continues to berate his actions. He huffs a breath and his face visibly scrunches in irritation, gradually turning into anger. The stranger stands straighter and would seem to tower over her shorter stature, the action doesn’t wavers [Y/N]’s own burning fury as her scowl deepens.

“Then find another man to threaten, my lady.” Venom drips from every word, an antagonizing smirk plastered on his face. “There a handful of templars out there who are more than glad to help you out!”

[Y/N] became dumbfounded at his choice of words. The man she was currently arguing with is aware of the existence of templars. Upon her brief yet subtle observation, she finds numerous of hidden weaponry on his body (a firearm inside his coat and a kukri hanging from his left leg.) He also had brass knuckles placed on his right hand; and to her demise, an assassin gauntlet wrapped around his left arm with customized parts attached to it. Internally does she groans, the obnoxious man was a brother.

“You’re an assassin for god’s sake-“ She spats, her temper beginning to match his. “Shouldn’t you be aware of such actions?!”

“H-how the hell did you know I’m an assa-“ He protests but he’s quickly cut off by another voice yells out from behind them.

“Jacob!” The voice was feminine, and strained. “You mustn’t run to danger whenever you so please.”

The name clicks in [Y/N]’s trouble mind. _‘Jacob, Jacob, Jacob-’_ it went. She immediately realizes that the fellow assassin in front of her was infamous Jacob Frye- Ethan’s son.

Now that she takes a closer look at his face, she found similarities of Ethan on his own features; Jacob, however, was broader and taller than he, and more rugged too. He has a scar on his right eyebrow and another by his left jawline- threading upwards to his cheek. His eyes were a dark shade of brown and green. [Y/N] sees his jaw clenching as he turns his head to the direction of the distressed call.

She peeks over his shoulders and catches a glimpse of a woman as tall as him, out of breath and thinly-running patience. As she approaches Jacob and [Y/N], the new company knits her eyebrows together and raises her left arm, she flicks his ear that causes him to flinch in pain place his gloved palm onto the now-reddening spot. As Jacob recovers from the woman’s attempt to scold him, [Y/N] observes her; braided-dark locks and obviously taller than most women she was. Her eyes were the shade of both grey and blue, lean figure and strides in confidence. The freckles spread across her face fits her nicely, but her deepening frown wasn’t.

The woman in question lifts her gaze from Jacob’s figure to [Y/N]’s, observing her as well. She simply looks over them and [Y/N] trails after, only to figure out that she was checking out the dead body behind her. [Y/N] scoots over to her side in attempt to hide Frye’s mistake.

“And you are?” The blue-eyed woman sharply inquires her. Her lips tightening and it’s as if her thin brows narrows ever further. Jacob steps between the two women and raises his freehand at the equally-tall woman. “She’s an assassin, Evie. Lay off.” He says and her scowl immediately fades, replacing it with an expression of shock. [Y/N] was now sure that she’s _formally_ introduced to Ethan’s twins, their resemblance to their late father is uncanny- at least, in her eyes it seemed.

“You really must put your brother on a leash, Miss Frye.” She reprimands at Evie, glaring at her brother who turns his head to return her gesture. “Impetuous he is. Carelessly shooting my target, who was absolutely defenseless by the way! Just when I was about to gain much needed information.”

Jacob directs his left index finger at her, his hooded gaze threatening at her being. “Now you listen here you little-“ He grits against his clenched teeth until Evie haughtily pulls him away from [Y/N].

“Apologies, madam.” Evie unexpectedly bows her head, placing a hand on her clothed chest. “I’ve told him off numerous times, but my brother dearest doesn’t bother to listen.” [Y/N] gives her a curt, airy laugh until replying such. “Believe me, I know the feeling- I have two.”

The female Frye simply smiles back. Awkward silence envelops the trio as they continued to stand on the concrete roof. In attempt to leave, [Y/N] fakes a cough and begins to walk in the opposite direction. The twins trails on her leaving figure, dumbfounded.

“May the both of you, perhaps, direct me to where Mister Green is?” She looks back at the pair, they were reluctant, but Evie answers anyway. “He’s by his curio shop nearby. You’ll find him there.”

“Thank you. And I trust you’ll clean this up, Mister Frye.” [Y/N] barely mutters out before she steps off the roof’s edge, jumping off.

Jacob and Evie were still in stunned silence; Evie slowly questions her brother. “Did you manage to know what her name was?”

“Nope.”

* * *

Upon returning to Whitechapel, there [Y/N] stands idly. Atop of the small, open door leading into the shop was an obnoxiously humogous sign that said ‘CURIOSITY SHOP’ hanging. It was worn and rusting from the years that went by. She can hear rustling coming from inside but still stands in wait outside in the chill air; strangers hurriedly bustling past her, children begging for scraps, and drunken men mumbling to themselves were the highlights of the district. Whitechapel was known for being the poorest borough in all of London, and it definitely lives up by its title.

The first thing she notices in the busy street that there were less blighters up and about, assuming that the Fryes’ influence had something to do with it. She merely shrugs as she finally enters the building. She takes her first step inside, putting down her hood as her eyes blink rapidly to adjust to the change of light; squinting as she fully takes the new environment. The shop was lit with several candles, books were scattered on the floor and misplaced documents placed on various locations. Jayadeep had never been a neat person, despite appearing so.

“Apologies, but we’re closed for today.” A voice speaks out further into the shop, heavily-thickened with an Indian accent. The unseen voice is [Y/N]’s only needed indication to know that Jayadeep is the one inside.

“The door was open, people may assume the opposite.” She teases to the open air, her hands rest behind her back as she observes the room further. A loud shuffling of steps came closer to where she stood. There came into view was a dark-skinned man with hair in disaray, clad in white robes, and his own hidden blade wrapped around his left forearm.

A tired smile appears on his face as he approaches her with open arms. [Y/N] returns him the hug, patting his back in the process. “Your shop’s still a mess, Jaya.” She lightly jokes and he releases a chuckle. They both depart from their hug and Jayadeep pats her shoulder. “And you still think you’re a comedian.”

Another wave of light laughter fills the room, it has been a while since [Y/N] and Jayadeep had communicated. The pair were childhood friends, both training under Ethan Frye’s wing (along with her brothers of course.)

* * *

INDIA, 1847

* * *

_Merely starting the fourth year of her existence, [Y/N] and her older brother, Marshall, were introduced to Ethan Frye, (their father’s close friend, along with Jayadeep’s father, Arbaaz Mir.) During their introductions, she saw a boy who was roughly the same age as her standing beside Arbaaz. He had a thick book at hand and a sent a charming smile her way. [Y/N] shyly waves at him, which he gladly returns. Unexpectedly, the charismatic boy sneaks behind his father and approaches her and extends his hand to her._

_“I’m Jayadeep, it’s nice to meet you!” He cheerily greets, causing the older men to snap their attention at the both of them. [Y/N] was taken aback at his gleeful atmosphere, but it wasn’t unwelcome. She accepts his hand and firmly shakes it. “I’m [Y/N].” _

_He flips his book to show her it’s cover, a familiar symbol engraved on it. “Would you like to read my book with me? It’s all about the great assassins such as Ezio Auditore-“ Jayadeep gets cut off when young [Y/N] gasps and takes the book from him, flipping its pages. “Does it include Edward Kenway?!” She gushes at the equally-excited boy, his grin widens and nods his head. Jayadeep leads her away from her brother and the older men to show his notes he got from his father._

_As the newfound friends scurry away to the other room, a young Marshall crosses his arms on his chest. Their father glances at his son who was pouting at his sister’s antics, he kneels in front of him and offers him a smile._

_“_ _What’s bothering you, my boy?” His father’s voice resonates the quiet room, Arbaaz and Ethan stood idly as they watch their colleague’s interaction with his child. Marshall distorts further into frustration before pouring his little heart out. “Sister never behaves well, not even during our house parties.”_

_T_ _he older Williams widens his smile as he looked his son in the eye. “Son, your sister’s a child and so are you. It isn’t wrong for a child to play around.” _

_Marshall looks down on his polished shoes and his nimble fingers fiddle with the buttons of his coat. Hesitating to reply to his father’s statement, he caves in by simply nodding. His father affectionately ruffles his hair and kisses the top of his head just before he rises from his position. Arbaaz was unfazed with the turn of events but as he catches a glance at Ethan, he quirks an eyebrow. Ethan was intently watching the father-and-son exchange, the Indian assassin notes the subtle expression of yearning upon his weary face._

* * *

END OF FLASHBACK

* * *

“I’ve only received the council’s letter earlier.” Jayadeep claims, sheepishly rubbing his nape. “Had I known you’d be arriving today, I would’ve tidied a bit.” He gestures at their clutter surroundings, [Y/N] hums as walks past him and sat on the empty chair near Jayadeep’s work desk. Sighing as she leans her body on the backrest. As she closes her eyes, she hears her friend walking around, openly asking if she wanted tea; she hums once more as Jayadeep went on to make her a cup.

She bites her lip before tiredly opening her dark eyes again, her gaze empty as she stared into nothing. “I’ve already met the twins by the way.” She informs her colleague, Jayadeep pauses briefly before continuing to pour the steaming tea to a empty cup. “What’s your opinion then?” He questioned as [Y/N] dryly laughs.

“Oh so many opinions I have, so few are positive.” She sneers as Jayadeep hands her the hot tea, in which she gladly takes from him. [Y/N] blows off the steam emanating from the ceramic cup, carefully taking a good sip of it. A satisfied hum leaves her lips, smiling at her only moment of peace.

Jayadeep takes the bait, leaning against his desk as he faces her. “Well, do share these opinions of yours.” He motions for her to continue, also mentally preparing himself for her fit of rants. She takes another sip before setting her cup at hand aside, her expression hardens as she looks at him straight in the eye. Already well-aware that she wasn’t please about whatever Jacob and Evie had done prior to her arrival to his shop, Jayadeep knew his best friend enough to know that she gains displeasure amongst the littlest things.

“As you may know, I witnessed a minor gang fight somewhere in the City of London-” She starts off, removing her leather gloves. She flexes her fingers before pressing each finger, causing to release a satisfying pop. “I immediately found out that templar was the cause of it. As he was left defenceless, I chased after him and successfully captured him.” [Y/N] tightens her right fist, pumping it upwards to exaggerate her explanation.

Her Indian friend stayed silent and was attentively listening to her, he simply nods before she continues. “And as I was interrogating the bastard, Jacob Frye decided it would be nice to shoot the man right between the eyes. Bloody hell, Jaya! I almost got the name of a potential target yet Jacob nonchalantly kills every man he sets sight on. I swear!”

Abruptly, she stands from her seat and paces around the room. [Y/N] removes her glasses as she rubs her other palm on her face, groaning as she did so. Jayadeep still kept his mouth shut, standing in his little corner as he watches his friend have a mental breakdown. Never will he admit that he finds her distress amusing.

After a few more moments of her dramatic despair, she visibly calms down. “So far Evie’s the superior of the two,” She notes aloud, Jayadeep’s attention now fixed on her. [Y/N], who’s known for her keen senses, notices his sudden change of aura but doesn’t bother to comment it. “But both of them seem to enjoy threatening anybody, even superiors- are they always like this?”

[Y/N] turns to Jayadeep, he only shrugs in response. “Most of the time, but you’ll get used to it.” He says. As she huffs out, she retrieves the gloves she had eagerly removed earlier, slipping them on once more. Straightening her coat, she faces her friend; dipping her head as she smiles at him.

“Well, I should take my leave. I’d like to rest before getting onto more important things.” She informs him, placing her spectacles on her face again. “Can we hold a meeting tonight? I’d like to talk to the Fryes before intiating anything else.”

Jayadeep nods. “Of course, but most of the important documents are in their tra- I mean, their hideout. I’ll have them find retrieve you at your house later this evening.”

She stares at him in utter confusion, unsure how to respond. “Won’t you tell me where their hideout is? So I can go by myself?” She queried, Jayadeep expertedly avoids the question by countering her. “It’s not best to _verbally_ tell you, my friend. You must see it yourself.”

His smug grin puts [Y/N] off as Jayadeep rarely keeps secrets from her. She offers him her signature glare as he gives out a playful laugh. She grins back before she heads out for Westminster, feeling the fatigue overcoming her at the passing second.

* * *

WESTMINSTER, 1868

* * *

It was already midday when she arrived at the mansion.

[Y/N] rounds by the street corner before finally eyeing the tall structure from afar. Her legs were starting to burn from her long walk, aware that a year of idleness had been the cause of her fatigue nowadays. After a few steps more and she now stands in front of their family house, it looked the same as the last time she and the entire family visited London.

In the earlier years, the house of Williams would frequently visit old London. Usually for their parents’ aristocratic affairs and their studies as London is more convenient to find teachers for children. Although, the Williams children had always been skeptical on why their lessons were always vastly different from what other noble-born children take. If the others would be practicing on how to hold the cups or how to curtsy, the three of them learned to properly wield a sword.

During the summer, whenever their parents busied themselves with politics or assassin contracts, young [Y/N] and Marshall would always be chasing one another around the house, causing havoc. Whenever they’re feeling generous, they would help the servants with house chores- something their mother prided herself for.

Unfortunately for Caelan, her youngest brother, was only a babe during that period of time- where house parties were frequent, everyday life was more eventful than living in the shadows in a quiet town of Horsham. It wasn’t because the life there was boring; as their family’s reputation and influence crumbles, they were forced out of their county and to hide in London wasn’t a viable option for them. Therefore, they took comfort in their mother’s hometown.

However, their mother, Cordelia, would occasionally return to London in hopes to reconnect with their former fellow noblemen but almost all of her efforts only achieve less than satisfactory as most of them would avoid her attempts at all costs; now afraid to taint their own reputation if they were to associate themselves with their family name. To be frank, it wasn’t much a big of a deal- the degrade of their social status, as they still lived in comfort and had much-faithful servants at their side; and the assassin brotherhood continued to welcome them with open arms. Only the eldest of the Williams children was upset with the outcome, forced to stop flaunting their wealth like a madman gave him a permanent foul attitude for the past few years.

[Y/N] doesn’t blame him, having to live almost their entire life in luxury only to be taken away so easily. She just wished that her baffoon of a brother would learn to adjust to such a life. His uptight issues was downright childish.

She walks towards the porch and up the stairs, [Y/N] raises her right hand to swiftly rap on the front door. As she patiently waits a response, her eyes wonder around the nicely-kept garden; butteflies flying around flower to flower and the leaves of the trees rustle to the passing breeze, the brief moment of tranquility has the noblewoman smiling to herself. Not soon after, the large doors swung open revealing a elderly woman, she mumbles out a greeting before realizing that it was [Y/N] that stood before her.

“[Y/N], my lady!” She exclaims, happy to see the young lady before her. “You’ve finally returned- and look at you! A lovely woman you came to be, as expected for lady Cordelia’s daughter.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Miss Tabitha.” She beams at the elderly maid, glad that she was still up and about. “You’ve certainly didn’t age a day.”

Tabitha, who was the leading maid of the house, waves a hand to dismiss her compliment, laughing as she practically pulls [Y/N] inside the house. The much-older woman dusts her hands off on the apron she wore above her dark uniform. “Bah! Your sweet-talk won’t get you anywhere, child.” She jeers at noblewoman, who still had a smile on her face as she removes her blue scarf, gauntlet, and heavy overcoat. Tabitha gladly takes them from her hold and lets it hang on her left forearm.

“Anyway, it’s good to be back.” [Y/N] confesses, as removing her waistcoat and then unbuttoning the first three buttons of her dress shirt. Suddenly, the less clothing constricting her body was satisfying feeling, it was as if she could breath properly now. Before Tabitha scurries away, she turns to [Y/N] again with her mouth agape. “Oh, would you like me to prepare your room? I’ll have the other maids fresh it up a bit.”

[Y/N] nods as she hurries to hand the red waistcoat to her too. “Yes, I’d appreciate that.” Tabitha acknowledges her response and hastily walks somewhere further into the mansion, already in the midst of ordering her fellow helpers to her aid. [Y/N] shook head as she walks into the drawing room to her right, entering the ridiculously spacious room. The first thing she notices was the equally-ridiculous, large family portrait that hung above the fireplace. A frown suddenly appears on [Y/N]’s features, it was as if seeing her father’s face disturbs her. She carefully steps towards it, looking up at the painting. Her young self and her mother wore matching blue and gold dresses whilst younger Marshall and their father wore their respective suits. In their mother’s arms was a barely-a-year-old Caelan, peacefully sleeping in her grasp. A picture of a perfect family it looked like, [Y/N] thought to herself.

As she gazes up to her father’s face, she felt like he was watching her. [Y/N] had always been bothered by the fact that their father has mismatching eyes; both their colors and irises different, and that made him fascinating- a condition that wasn’t precisely dangerous but undoubtfully rare. Her mother found his eyes her favorite part of him, to which she never shuts up about it.

[Y/N] rounds the room, finding comfort in the couch before her. She was at peace once more, nobody to bother her for the next few hours. Her body slouches on her seat, leaning her head on the headrest. Her eyes fluttered shut as sleep succumbs her.

* * *

Evie was forced to fetch their new associate after Jacob declined to be a proper gentleman.

When she and her twin came back to the train hideout, Henry was already there; looking at the assassination wall in front of Jacob’s couch. When the twins came barging in, Green greeted them with a smile. “I’m assuming your mission was a success?” He inquires, earning a barking laugh from Jacob.

“Indeed it was, Greenie. You should’ve seen it.” The male Frye grins as he looks over his sister, who was already emanating a deadly aura caused by Jacob’s boisterous display. “Evie almost slipped off the roof, a hilarious display if you’d ask me!”

However, Henry wasn’t amused at the slightest- rather, he looked agitated. Casting a worried expression at Evie, he asks. “My goodness. Are you alright, Miss Frye?” To his relief, she wearily nods at her superior. “Yes, I’m fine. If Jacob hadn’t compromised our presence by laughing like a lunatic, we would’ve slipped away unnoticed- but nonetheless, we were successful, Mister Green.” She hisses out, glaring at her brother who appeared to be smug at Evie’s dismay.

“Good to hear.” The assassin leader acknowledges as Jacob walks past him then slumps himself on the couch, spreading his legs outward and throws his top hat on the seat next to him. Evie pulls out a folded document from inside her coat and hands it over to Henry, who gingerly takes it from her to inspect. As his brown eyes skim over the paper, he lets out a satisfied hum and gives the twins a nod of approval. “Excellent, I’ll have these their locations sometime this week. Amazing work, you both.”

The older Frye twin visibly flushes at Henry’s compliment, but keeps her composure well as she smiles at him. Her brother ignores the exchange and blatantly yawns, covering his eyes with his right arm. As Evie turns around to retire to her own car, Henry calls out to the both of them- his sudden loud voice caused Jacob to snort; an indication of him almost-drifting to sleep, his sister smirk at him but faces the Indian assassin once more, confusion washing her face.

“Can any of you pick up our new associate?” Henry requests, unsure how the two will react after only being sent to a mission. “She wants to hold a meeting- tut since I didn’t mention that your hideout is a locomotive, she would need help navigating over here.”

“Oh God.” Jacob manages to groan out, his expression immediately turned sour as his covers his eyes once more. “Don’t tell me it’s that bloody woman we met earlier.” Henry seemed uncharacteristically unfazed, giving Evie a look to further explain her brother’s statement.

“Earlier prior to the mission, we came across a woman. Jacob claimed that she was an assassin as well.” She explains to him, blinking a few times before continuing. “She and Jacob had a bit of- uh, a domestic upon meeting one another.”

That seemed to make Henry smile as he bobs his head, amused at the news he received. He places his crossed arms on his chest as he faced the frustrated Jacob Frye and spoke to him. “Then I can’t convince you to retrieve her?” Henry queried, earning a childish pout from the younger Frye. Evie confidently interjects into their conversation. “I have nothing else to do, I’ll can go pick her up. Just say the word.”

“Thank you, Miss Frye.” Henry appreciates her volunteering to do so, relieved that he wouldn’t need to leave but still felt guilty for sending Evie instead. If only Jacob wasn’t as stubborn as a mule.

“So, where does this mysterious colleague live, Mister Green?” Evie questions, wanting to get this over with and she oh-so hopes that it’ll be nearby. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. “In a mansion in Westminster.” Their superior bluntly state, leaving Evie flabbergasted. “Look for this symbol above the house gate, you’ll find her there.”

Henry hands her another piece of paper, although smaller. Pale, blue eyes observed the sketch; it was conjoined feathers, somehow shaped like the letter ‘W’ with two thick rings surrounding it. She nods and glances back at the woman that sat by the desk at the far corner of the passenger car. “Agnes, where will our next stop be?”

The woman named Agnes casts her a quick glance before returning to her paperwork. “Charing Cross station, Miss Evie.”

“Good, please make sure to standby there, I will return with our guest shortly.”

* * *

Now, Evie stands a few steps away from the mansion before her. She pulls out the sketch that Henry had given her again, her sharp eyes glancing back and forth between the paper and the crest the perched on top of the metallic arch; the resemblance was uncanny, Evie notes as she shoves the paper at hand back into her coat’s inner pocket. She struts pass the entrance and saw maids with baskets filled with groceries and some with folded sheets in their arms, apparently the stranger she and Jacob encountered earlier was not only a fellow assassin but a noblewoman too; although in her perspective, the woman wasn’t exactly displaying traits of one- and at the same time, they didn’t had the chance to observe her facial structure because she had her hood on the entire time. The only prominent detail that Evie can remember was that she was wearing oval glasses and a blue scarf.

Some of the house servants warily glance at Frye’s figure; uncertain they were if she was a threat or not. Evie simply ignores them as she hastens her approach towards the front door, the sole of her boots digging against the gravel. She practically jumps upon the doorstep as she rapidly knocks her knuckles on the door, hands interlaced behind her back and her left foot tapping impatiently against the wooden porch. Luckily, the door opened as soon as she did- revealing a elder woman with a scowl on her face.

“What is it you want?” the old lady fumed at her, Evie offers a thin-lipped smile and spoke up. “Mister Green had informed me that Miss Williams is here?”

Instantly, the old woman’s frown fades away and steps aside to let Evie inside. “Come in then, she’s in the drawing room- do be careful, she’s asleep.”

As Evie stepped inside, she was amazed by the architecture of the house from within; it was as if the entire place was made out of marble, all white and shining. Blue and gold curtains covered the tall windows and varieties of plants (as well as some of Evie’s favorite flowers,) decorating the entire hall. Awestruck she was, gawking around the new environment for so long that she didn’t even notice the cranky old maid wasn’t at her side anymore. She shook her head sideways before heading on.

The drawing room wasn’t difficult to find; the room was dim prior to the fireplace the only source of light, there were high bookshelves covering an entire wall of the room. They were so tall that there was even a maneuverable ladder placed on top of it. Evie eventually catches sight of the painting above the fire place. _‘Family portrait, hm?’_ She thought to herself, focusing on the children on it. The first thing she notices the young girl, _‘That must be her, awfully adorable she was.’_ Evie’s thoughts scrambled at the little lass on the painting; her expression was dumbfounded, her wide eyes screamed naivety as her small lips were slightly agape- _‘To capture childhood innocence, I suppose.’_ Her mind continued. She also notices that the other individuals on the painting with her were stoic, even the young boy standing beside an older man (to which, Evie assumed to be their father,) seemed dull-looking.

Unbeknownst to Evie, [Y/N] was staring at her from her seat at the right side of the commodious room; clearly entertained at her easily-swaying curiosity. Lightly coughing into her hand, the freckled woman in front of her flinches at the abruption. Her bright blue eyes were frantic as she sets her eyes at the noblewoman who was now making fun of her.

“Forgive me but I couldn’t help myself.” [Y/N] giggles, running her calloused fingers through her messy hair. She stands up and buttons back her loose shirt, Evie merely gawks at her actions but soon after bows her head at her.

“It’s no problem, Milady.” Evie formally states, which takes [Y/N] aback. The younger woman’s sudden display of etiquette was surprising; remembering that she talked to her with so much bark earlier that day.

[Y/N] walks towards Evie, patting on her shoulder to relax herself. “Please Evie, no formalities. Wherever or whatever we are, we are equals.” [Y/N] began, offering her a lopsided grin. “You may call me [Y/N] if you wish.”

“Of course, Mi- ah, [Y/N].” She slowly concedes, still reluctant to look her in the eye. “Also, Mister Green had sent me to retrieve you for the meeting.”

“Is that so?” [Y/N] gestures Evie to follow her out of the room, to which she complies. The two women walking back into the main hall of the mansion; the young Williams calls over a passing maid, asking her to fetch her outdoor wear. With a hasty nod, the maid scurries away and [Y/N] faces her fellow assassin.

“I was expecting your brother to be in your place.” She starts off, hoping to lighten the awkward mood between them. “But I’m glad Henry sent you instead- I’d rather not deal with Mister Frye at the moment.”

Her colleague lets out a chuckle at her confession. “Actually, Mister Green asked him to do so. But when he figured out it was you, he outwardly declined.” Evie adds, finding delight at her brother’s misery. “Well, thank God he did. What poor company he’d be.” [Y/N] jokes, earning another wave of Evie’s laughter.

“Oh, certainly no need to doubt that.” Evie agreeds, her grin already wrinkling the corners of her eyes.

The random maid [Y/N] called upon earlier had returned with her gear, speedily placing them back to where they were on her body. As everything was in place, she fishes her hand back into her coat’s pocket and pulls out the pin from earlier, clicking it back on the collar of her dress shirt. A satisfied sound leaves her lips as she looks back up to Evie who was merely watching her dress.

“Lead the way, Evie.” She signals her to go ahead of her, and she complies once more without hesitation. As the two of them went past the door, [Y/N] closed the door with a click; turning back to companion.

“Where are we headed, my dear escort?” [Y/N] never ceases with her humor, Evie mentally notes. Quite unexpected indeed, but not unwelcome. She found it easier to communicate this way instead with formalities.

“Charing Cross Station, are you fine with walking there?” Evie inquires as the slightly-older woman beside her scoffs. “Of course I’m fine with walking, why- do you want to race there?” [Y/N] teases the freckled assassin in front of her, and she simply laughs again. “I’d rather not, perhaps we should reschedule?”

The young Williams wraps her arm around Evie’s own, smiling up at her. “You know, Evie- I think we’ll be great friends.”

“And I think so too, [Y/N]. Without a doubt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From most fics I've read, I always love that the Reader would become best friends with Evie! Although, I'm a bit afraid that she's a bit out of character? I wanted to show how I think she'll react if she had more female assassin friends, especially someone a bit older than her. (Perhaps someone she could look up to or something similar.)
> 
> Initially, I wanted this story to have the reader to be romantically involves with BOTH twins. (But huhu, poor Henry.)


End file.
